


blackbird on my shoulder

by cottontxiled



Category: Tribe Twelve
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers eventually, Eye Trauma, I am sorry for this 😐, Marijuana, Milo's like technically not dead but he isnt alive, Multi, Noah has just a lil bit of internalized homophobia, Slow Burn, pour one out for my boy, warning: fucked up!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottontxiled/pseuds/cottontxiled
Summary: Anger is a powerful emotion, especially in Noah. It sticks with him, seeping into his actions, his words.So when he finds Kevin, it's like he's been stoppered.
Relationships: Kevin Haas | The Observer/Noah Maxwell
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING. 
> 
> This is intense torture. Please be safe ❤️

It’s dark. The smell of rotting wood and old furniture hangs heavy on the tongue, almost pervasively solid. Kevin finds he’s sweating in the humid dark, duct tape across his mouth and twine around his arms is starting to cut into his skin, making him tense. It’s dark and Kevin Haas doesn’t know where he is or how he got there.

A sliver of light hits his face, from the door opening. He starts, mumbling through the duct tape frantically as a man approaches, keeping his face hidden beneath the brim of his cap. His eyes widen as he frantically tries to communicate, met with calm, predatory movements. The man adjusts the hat, clearing his throat. “You know, I really thought Maxwell would do.. better. Work with us, get the journal on time,” He stalks around where Kevin is bound, “I mean, you get it right?”

Suddenly, the figure is crouched in front of him. Fingers grasping his chin, tilting his entire face upwards to the point where his neck ached. “Wouldn’t you be disappointed if someone didn’t hold up their end of a bargain, Haas?” 

He mumbles something into the duct tape, fearful and defiant. That gets him a chuckle, and a demeaning little pat on the cheek. Then, the figure is just out of view, leaving Kevin facing the door where another man, face set in stone stands. ‘ _ The red light means it’s recording ‘  _ Kevin recalls Noah showing him how to work a camera, as he stares down the barrel of one,  _ ‘Don’t start the show without pressing the red button.’ _

“Vinny, you just gonna fuckin’ stand there all day or what?” The other one snaps, from somewhere to Kevin’s right side. “Take his fuckin’ ducktape off. Prick.”

The man, who he could now identify as Vinny, stepped forward, face obscured by the lighting too much for Kevin to read how he felt. The tape is peeled off, tackiness clinging to his lips and cheeks even after the grey strip is forgotten on the ground. 

“Please..” Kevin croaks, in a voice that’s dry, too hoarse and choked by panic to get out more than a whisper, “Pl.. Please.” He interrupts himself by coughing, a rough noise that makes Habit hum. 

“Forgot to tell ya, Vinny here is a completely loyal little lapdog.” Habit reemerges with a jaunty swing of a weapon, far too jovial for the dire straits Kevin found himself in. “Ain’t that right? He’s not gonna be bustin’ you out.” The way he squeezed the other’s shoulder highlighted his last sentence in big, red strokes. Danger. Do not cross. 

“Yes.” Comes the quiet reply from the man - Vinny. The name is familiar, and he realizes a moment too late who these people are. He starts struggling, terror crowding in as he manages to scoot the chair into a corner. knocking it over and hitting the back of his head harshly. He yipes as it makes contact with the floor, and Habit mocks a sympathetic wince.

“Oo.” The smile in his voice is all too audible. “That one’s on you, I didn’t lift a finger.” He crouches low next to Kevin, surveying the tears that had begun to fall with a disinterested gaze, before those eyes trail back to his, and his chair is being placed upright. “Kevin.”

Kevin doesn’t react, keeping his shoulders hunched, head low. “Kevin.” To no avail.

A loud, resounding smack rings through Kevin’s ears, and he tastes copper in his mouth, a wretched cry pulled from his throat. The hand that had punched him was now behind him, an arm wrapped around his throat. Kevin gasped, kicking his feet out as he struggled to breathe, vision edged with black and head tight with pain.

Through what he could see, he made desperate, choked noises, pleading with words and air he didn’t have to an unmoved observer. Kevin’s kicks eventually start to slow, wheezes silenced. It’s almost as if he’s draining from his body, sinking through the floorboards to somewhere far away from the blinding pain and the fear, and the stench of rot.

He’s wrong, though.

Kevin’s immediately pulled back, and released, head shoved down as he desperately gasps for air, coughing harshly. He shakes like a wet kitten, coughs turning into big, desperate sobs. That makes Habit groan in annoyance.

“Another fuckin’ cryer, huh?” He prowls forward, dropping low again and grinning a grin with too many teeth as he gazes up at Kevin’s horrified face. He grabs his glasses, and wrenches them off, “Here, let me help you out.” With that, he tosses them to the floor, a cracking noise sounding as Kevin’s world went blurry and unfocused.

Another fit of crying is building in the back of his throat, and he shakes his head, unable to speak properly. “Please stop, I haven’t done anything to you,” He croaks, “Please. I’m sorry, what did I do, please..” Fresh tears soak his face, as he shakes his face free from Habit’s bruising grip.

Habit purrs. He purrs and it’s such a chilling noise that Kevin draws in a shuddery breath, and freezes, eyes wide. “You know, you have some nice peepers. Genuinely. It’ll be a shame to take ‘em.”

Kevin shakes his head in disbelief, shaking as a small, miniscule paring knife is pulled from Habit’s belt. “No.. No, no, please no.” He begs, leaning as far away as he can, “Please stop! Make him stop, make him fucking stop!” 

Vinny stands motionless, a sentry, as he has been for many people now. He’s seen plenty, and not even Kevin’s tearful plea sways him to cross Habit. It encourages him. He lifts his camera, lip jutting out just slightly, to focus in on Kevin, the tears streaking his face, the angry raw skin where twine has bitten into it. The contrast of the cold metal dragging up his cheek, tip just barely focused on the corners of his eyes. At this, Vinny feels nauseous. He closes his eyes, refusing to watch it in person. 

There’s a disgusting squelch, and suddenly, Kevin is  _ howling _ . He kicks his feet out, loud, desperate begging for Habit to stop, but the man on top of him refuses. His knife quickly seeks out the next target, and both eyes are rolling on the ground. 

Kevin passes out cold. His head knocks against the concrete with a low thud. The air smells like blood and rot and everything that made the attic what it was. A slaughterhouse, for all intents and purposes.

Habit rises to his feet, and puffs out a breath, ambling out of the room with an unspoken order for Vinny to follow. Taking one last look at Kevin’s slumped body, Vinny steps over him, on his way to trail after Habit. This new normal was taking its toll.

Vinny was quick to cross the threshold, swallowing nervously and fidgeting with his camera. 

“Vinny.”

When he turns, the thing that greets him is a perversion of Evan, spine-like teeth and a tongue that dripped purple, chewing wetly as the creature inside Evan crouched, finding the other eye on the ground and wrapping the toxic appendage around it. Vinny wants to retch, queasily lifting the camera and making eye contact through it.

There weren’t words for the feeling that consumed him when Habit pounced.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Reference to torture, some heavy confrontation, and the fuckening that is the Boardwalk.

Kevin was in a foggy haze of pain. Everything drifted in and out, unsurprisingly, there was a whole lot of nothingness, only smells and sounds to gauge where he was. 

As far as he could tell, he was in the same place, the twine had been cut, and there was nothing holding him back. He lacked the resolve (and the sight, to even know where he was going) to run, which was probably what his captors were counting on. He was still slumped, small and unwilling to take up anymore space, propped against a cold wall, when he heard the footsteps. They approach and stand a few feet away, foot tapping in rhythm to an unknown song. “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin..” 

“No snappy comebacks for me?” The pout is audible. “No… biting remarks, not even a prayer?” He sounds horribly disappointed, as if Kevin being silent was an insult to him personally. As quickly as the downtrodden tone is adopted, it’s shed, like a ratty coat. “C’mon. Open mic. How we feelin’?” He goads.

“Man, I just want to go home.” He exhales tiredly, after a moment, resigned and aware that his feelings, his physical limitations didn’t matter to Habit, and even less to his patron. “I.. I don’t have skin in this game. I just want to go home.” He repeats. Nothingness was frustrating. He almost wished he could see his face, have something to direct his emotion at.

"Let's not kid ourselves, buddy," The muted squelch of viscera under a boot sounded as he stepped closer and Kevin flinched, wondering who that had been, "You've had skin in this game before you had the ability to tie your damn shoes." Habit grunts as he sits, and Kevin tries to press himself to the wall, breathing shallowly. 

"Stop- what is that? What the fuck are you doing?" An abrupt tonal shift, as Habit distastefully recognizes Kevin's fear. 

"I was.. I was a kid, I didn't know any of this was _real_!" Kevin manages, around the way his throat closed up, a choked rush of words. "I never.. I never asked for this.

Habit hums. He hums, and it's buzzing through his chest like a growl. "I can understand anger. But I've never understood this, blubbering about how you never asked for this, and how horrible it is, stuck like a mule." He continues, "Fuckin' Maxwell, at least he knows why he's being stubborn. You don't even have a reason."

A warm hand is brushing against his cheek, thumbing tears away and leaving something coppery across his face in return. "Cheer up," Habit coos, tone mocking as his thumb circles closer and closer to the socket, as if he intends to jam a finger through, "At least you're alive, hm?"

Kevin squeezes his eyelids shut, as best as he even can. He wasn't sure how being alive was a mercy, it wasn't as if he was allowed in his body. He hadn't been allowed to keep the few friends that were still there. Or reach out to the ones that drifted away. Was anyone even looking for him, at this point?

Of course, Habit is not known for his empathy.

Kevin miserably nods at the demon's statement, and settles back against the wall as he listens to the attic door slam shut.

And so began the long wait, left solely to the whims of Habit, his patron terrifyingly distant. Kevin was alone through this. Nobody was coming to save him. It took three days for those words to come sputtering up out of his mouth.

On the fourth day, his bicep is roughly grabbed as he's dragged, down and out the stairs, to stand in the cold, breezy evening. Static buzzed and jumped in his ears, accompanied by a harsh laugh, seemingly next to his ear.

Then, he was pushed. Away from Habit, away from anything he could grab onto, standing alone as static swirled, climbing to a crescendo as he grew dizzy, stumbling a few steps foreward.

He falls to the ground, feeling sun-warmed wood planks against his face, the stench of swamp accompanied by something else, something brimstone.

His heart seizes in his chest.

He's alone on the boardwalk. 

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Observer's first appearance, flashbacks to implied childhood abuse, brief mention of Kevin's sockets and begging for death. This is a very quick one but it still had content that could trigger, even if only alluded to, stay safe!

Kevin doesn't know how long he lays there, spread out on the warm wood, limbs splayed as he breathes in and out, trying to calm himself down. 

He is wrung out, like a tea towel that's been soaked over and over, no matter how many times you hang it up, the mold still gathers, the dampness lingers. Perpetually, he is in pain.

It's by no means a new feeling to the man, as he rolls over, facing upwards.

_The sun-bleached paleness of roadsigns, screaming, and the scrape of kiddie chairs against concrete._

_Hands bruising his upper arm, splitting his lip, and cradling him split seconds later._

He squeezes his eyes shut, before remembering it makes no difference.

There's a low, resounding sound from the back of Kevin's head, something that almost feels like a hand pushing at the coiled hair. " **Are we having a pity party? I haven't received my invitation, Kevin, that's rather rude.** "

He stays silent, not pushing back against the force taking control of his sluggish limbs, though he has to bite back a vindicated laugh at the shocked spluttering, when it attempts to See. He is quickly sobered by the yanking at the base of his skull.

" **How many days?** " It rumbles, and the pain flares at the base of Kevin's skull. He whimpers, and after a moment, it turns from pulling, to the gentle push of phantom fingers. 

"Three?" He guesses, only being able to estimate off of the meals he was given. That seems to be satisfactory, as there are no further questions. Gently, like a creaky marionette, it pulls Kevin's body up, and begins to stride confidently, able to See through it's own eyes.

The Observer, of course, wouldn't be that easy to destroy. It wouldn't limit itself to its vessel in such a way, though it had a twisted love for each, weak, broken down puppet it used.

Kevin was blind, though. Feeling his body move, the sensation of it humming, wind brushing against his cheeks. Underfoot, he crushed dead, dried out things, he could only hope were leaves. The boardwalk was a twisted, demented palace of madness, like a hall of mirrors with no helpful, yet uninterested teenager manning it to guide you through. It was so, so easy to get lost.

Like a child clutching to their mother's leg, he clutches at the presence of the entity, feeling pathetic as it laughs, but doesn't abandon him. His chest feels tight, and horrible. He feels monstrous. But the pace of his body walking doesn't let him cry. Kevin warily lets himself think that maybe he couldn't cry, anymore.

" **Let go, Kevin.** " Came the order. " **Let go, and when you've quite finished moping you can join me.** "

He's nothing, if he's not obedient. So he bows his head, and lets true yawning blackness overtake him.

-

He comes back into consciousness with a fuzzy mouth and warmed skin, back against the rough bark of a tree. Blind, he reaches out for the pressure of the entity, and grasps nothingness, swallowing in fear. He was alone. Sitting against a tree, god knows where, god knows how long he'd been asleep. Kevin presses his palms to his sockets, trying to keep himself from panicking and failing miserably.

The sound of footsteps didn't help. It really, really, didn't help. 

He scrambled as far back as he could, but it seemed whoever it was, was already heading straight towards him, footsteps picking up the pace and becoming urgent.

"Observer! Fuckin'-, I thought-I thought.. The door, it should've..." The person babbles at him angrily, standing just out of reach, their voice filled with familiar rage. Noah. God, Kevin should not have felt his heart swell but he did. 

"Noah.. Noah, calm down." He said, voice quiet and rough with sleep.

" _Calm down?!_ Like HELL, I will, you're probably counting on that you.. you sick cocksucker!" He snarls back, sounding more wild animal than human.

Tiredly, Kevin dropped his hands, head tilted against the tree, "Kill me, then."

The simple motion seemed to bring the other man to a screeching halt, for a moment, there was a stretch of silence only interrupted by their labored breathing and all sorts of nighttime insects.

"I.. What?"

"Kill me, Noah." Kevin repeated patiently, "I know you have that revolver. Clearly I'm not going to put up a fight. One shot, my friend."

"What the fuck is this? A sick joke?" Kevin hears him shift on the grass, uneasy. "Are you really..Kevin?"

Kevin just gasps a laugh, eyes opening wide to reveal pink, dried sockets. "Am I really anything?" He echoes.

Noah stumbles back, and retches. Kevin sighs, squeezing his eyelids shut. "I'm so sorry, this is clearly unhelpful. Yes. I'm Kevin."

"Jesus Christ." Noah whispers.

"Indeed." Kevin says solemnly, turning his head to the side as it had been before.

"Can you.. can you see me?" Noah asks tentatively.

He can't, but he knows the other man well enough to imagine the expression on his face. He snorts. "No, my eyes are down the gullet of some purple murderer thing.

"Oh my God." 

Kevin's smile is more of a grimace. "Yeah."

"Can you, can you get up..?" Noah asks warily. 

Kevin tests his hands and legs, pushing himself up, using the trunk of the tree as support. His ankle flares painfully and he leans heavily against the tree with a sharp gasp. "My ankle is sprained. I've got a limp arm." He reports, voice shaky.

Noah swears quietly, and steps closer, "Okay, Kevin, turn around, and take a step forward."

"You.. you forgot to say Simon Says," He chuckles weakly as he complies, stumbling forward and ending up with his face in Noah's chest, and clutches onto him to steady himself, vacantly realizing he's shaking hard enough to move Noah with him. 

Noah laughs, tight and forced, sighing as he braces Kevin against him, and begins to walk, struggling to the exit. 

Kevin's too exhausted and upset to feel ashamed of burying his face there, wishing he could block out the world. Of course, Noah smelt like shit and he doubted he smelt much better but he had been so alone for ages and the last person who touched him had been using a bowie knife.

He allows himself this much. If Noah protests, he doesn't voice it, too concerned with following the exact layout of the boardwalk, becoming more and more encouraged when the sky lightened. He shook Kevin slightly, nudging him along, "We're at the exit."

Kevin stumbles across, out into the asphalt of the parking lot, listening to the odd few cars pass by. 

It couldn't be later than early morning, with the dampness of the air and the chirping of the insects. He takes a deep breath, and steps forward again, feeling Noah somewhere near him, tensely shifting as he watched Kevin carefully. 

With no further comment, apparently, Kevin falls back against Noah, and cannot muster any strength to convey his gratitude. 

He doesn't need to. Noah rambles enough for the two of them, telling Kevin everything, about how he had survived trapped there, about how his investigation was going. It wasn't an excited rant. It wasn't happy. It wasn't angry, it was just.. the rambles of a man who had toed the edge of insanity. And Kevin is there to listen. Of course he is. 

An amused chuckle softly echoes in his brain, and he feels phantom lips press a kiss to his hairline. He wrinkles his nose, disgusted at the easy affection.

' **Pay attention.** ' It reprimands, ' **This is going to be very beneficial to you, my watcher.** '

Kevin can only listen on helplessly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeere's Noah!
> 
> To clarify; Observer's relationships with its vessels is stupid and complex. It sees them as very cute, stupid kids or animals, and that prompts a lot of unwanted affection.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: 
> 
> Interrogation, Observer misbehavior (watching Noah sleep), Kevin bearly gets his nose broken, and drinking. Homoerotic drinking? Hm. Tell me if that's relevant in the comments. I can't tell how gay that is.

Going home with Noah normally wouldn't have been torture. 

Back before Noah was really pulled into this mess, Kevin had a few vague memories of tutoring him. Practicing German side-by-side and reviewing footage. Every word of crazed rambling he translated had his head spinning, sure, but it was worth it to ease the worry lines already developing on Noah's brow.

They were old classmates, old friends, he enjoyed Noah's company then and now.

Guiltily, he thinks about exactly how much he enjoys Noah's company. This gets a rise out of Observer, whose cackling is already loud enough to cause a splitting headache.

" **Oh, my poor watcher,** " it's tone is anything but comforting, cloying and pitying, absolutely amused, " **Poor, poor watcher. All he sees is me, Kevin. I am all that he sees.** " It erupts into laughter again.

Kevin grits his teeth, pressing his forehead more firmly against the couch arm, trying to force the entity away. He did _not_ need more mockery. 

The sound of shuffling footsteps catches his attention, but he doesn't move until they've come up in front of the couch.

"...Kev?" Noah's voice was slurred, and clearly stunned. Kevin grimaces.

"Hey, Noah." He almost picks his head up, before thinking the better of it. "What.. uh.. What's goin' on?"

"My friend, Jim Beam is." He answers bluntly, and pauses, and the sound of liquid sloshing against glass tells Kevin all he needs to know. "Fuckin'... Fuckin' need something after all that..."

Kevin hums sadly. "I don't disagree, my friend."

"Wha..'s wrong?" The couch dips, and Kevin flinches back, curling into a tighter ball. "Shiiiiit. You got a headache? I have um... Tylenol." Noah had a way of rambling on-usually organized rambling, while sober,- but rather disjointed the drunker he got. 

It'd be endearing, if it wasn't worrying. To be honest, Noah even bothering with him right now was making him feel oddly safe. It was like waking up after a particularly awful night of indulgence, and having a friend to lean on in the aftermath, helping each other's throbbing headaches and absolute regret. Kevin's ears prick, as he zones back in, realizing Noah had been on about something.

"...And that's like, number one reason I _never_ take fuckin' Tylenol." He grumbles, "Whiskey, it's just.. It's. It works." He says bluntly.

Ah. Kevin swallows around his dry throat. Addiction was a bit of a problem, among the Maxwell-Ashers. Milo had always been bitterly against 'too much' of something. Kevin had always been there to make sure he got enough. Until he was made to forget Milo. Until everything went to shit.

Kevin straightens up, "Noah?" He asks. God. He hates the way he sounds, soft and treading lightly. He's a hypocrite. He knows he is. Kevin's indulgence was much, much different, but who was he to deprive Noah of what kept him grounded? "How much do you have left?"

There's a taken-aback gasp when he turns to Noah. Kevin was expecting it, but it stung so much worse, for some reason. He brought up an arm to drape over his raw sockets, covering them from sight.

"Y-yeah, um.. Fuck, dude. Jesus." Noah sounds nervous and Kevin just hates himself. So much. 

A bottle is passed to him, warm fingers pressing it into his hand, and he can feel them hovering near him. "Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not gonna need help drinking." Kevin deadpans, sure of himself. The hands shrink away with a genuine chuckle.

So, Kevin unscrews the cap, and tries, very hard, to drink without spilling, but it's a debacle. He can barely get a mouthful and feels so... useless. The front of his shirt sticks to his chest in splatters, and he can feel it drying against his skin.

So, he passes it back to Noah, who drinks, and passes it back, presumably watching some shit TV. Fuck. TV. After a few passes, it becomes clear that Noah's fucked up, and Kevin's barely gotten tipsy, and Noah, for some godforsaken reason, needs to remedy this. 

Kevin feels a warm hand against his face, cupping his cheek and tilting his head back. His face is hot, and his breathing is.. not cooperating, as he feels Noah rumble a laugh next to him. "Jesus Christ, dude, don't make this gross, I'm fuckin' tryin' ta help you!" He wheezes, finding Kevin's plight hilarious. "I'm not.. I'm not after you like that. But uh, I wanted to like.. make it up to you. I was an ass about your eyes. I think. Yeah."

He gets a few good sips in. And tries hard not to think about their proximity. About how much taller Noah is and how if he leaned forward, he'd probably be pressing his lips against his collarbone, and be able to feel the way those stupid giggles reverberated through his chest. 

Fuck. 

Shit.

-

A couple nights later, the other shoe drops clean through the floor, and into the basement.

Kevin remembers seeing. That rouses him immediately, knowing it could only be Observer, once again assuming control. ' _Please no_.' He whimpered, _'I don't.. I don't want to_.' The body is shuffling through the house, socked feet making little noise on the tile as it pads up to Noah's room. 

" **But you will**." Comes the deep, gleeful whisper. 

Noah's room is dimly lit, and messy. It hasn't been cleaned in days, months even. The Observer decides to forego the hovering by his bedside, and perches on the foot of the bed, springs creaking ominously. 

Noah shifts.

It freezes. But he simply snuffles and settles back against his arm, nose tucked away. Under different circumstances, Kevin would've thought it adorable. Now he just felt nauseous, and wanted desperately to get out.

Observer reaches out with his hand, after an hour of simple watching, and tucks a curl behind Noah's ear, letting his thumb graze his cheekbone and almost cackling with delight, as Noah turned his head to lean against the hand. " **Do you see? Are you watching?** " 

Kevin nods, upset and sickened.

" **I thought you would love this,** " It comments, " **I'm doing what you only have the guts to think about**." 

' _Not like this_.' He wants to plead, but he just attempts to force it out. No more. He didn't need more guilt, more reason to _hate_ himself. 

It refuses to comment.

-

Noah wakes up to _Kev- The Observer-_ hunched over him, lip bit in what looked to be a happy grin.

And he did the only fucking thing he could do. He head-butted him, and screamed. As the entity recoiled in pain, he rolled to the side, adrenaline coursing through him as he pinned the fucker to the floor, managing to land a hit. 

He's unaware of the onslaught of furiously scared, and panicked insults coming from his own mouth, unaware of the small cries, ones out of Kevin's mouth, not the entity's. Kevin took the hit in it's stead, standing tall. 

Kevin's nose was busted, and if he weren't so fucking _mad,_ he might've felt sorry for him.

"So this was all a fuckin' ruse. You can see, huh?" Noah stated furiously, reproachfully crossing his arms. "That's low. _That is on the fucking floor, Kevin_."

"No," Kevin said tiredly, sounding like he had a cold, "I really, really can't see, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It wasn't me."

"Fat fucking chance of me believing you after THAT!" Noah gestures with a near-shout, "You were on my bed, just looking at me with your.. lack of eyes and that weird fuckin' smile. You.. You probably fuckin' work with him! Willingly!" He retorts.

Kevin doesn't say anything. He simply says "It." after Noah yells him.

Noah huffs. "It. Answer the damn question."

Kevin just holds a hand to his nose. "No." He says, short but not defensive, sounding more defeated than Noah could've thought possible. "No, I.. You don't believe me, but I am trapped every-time it does that. I am behind a screen. I can't make it stop, it-it shows me things. I'm.." He trails off before simply shaking his head.

Noah.. deflates. That was not what he was expecting. Nor was it the whole truth, he suspected. But something about Kevin hunched and trying to prevent blood running onto the bedsheets, something about the ache in his knuckles and the split skin there bothered him. Immensely.

They stay like that, silent, despite Noah's ragged breathing as he shut his eyes tight, turning away and spiraling in a corner, hands on his knees. Kevin's occasional sniffles, and hacking sprayed blood into his hands and down his shirt. He didn't know where the towels were. He was so tired. 

-

It's early morning when Noah moves. Kevin had fallen asleep, fist clenched around his nose and mouth open slightly, brown splotches on his shorts as well as Noah's bedsheets. The man's heart sunk. Fuck. He had.. explaining to do? Surely?

No, he didn't. If Kevin was lying, this pathetic look just meant he was a great actor. And Noah was pretty sick of being lied to. 

He was adamant on being thorough in his surveillance from now on, and as he glanced over to his door, he thought idly about getting a deadlock. 

Something (and he had his suspicions on what) had opened the lock from the inside last night.

As he waits for Kevin to wake up, he begins to cobble together a messy, half-baked plan that seemed viable, one that prepared him for every possibility in the book, which he was pretty damn proud of.

He would act like nothing happened. Continue to act buddy-buddy, relax Kevin, put him at ease and make sure he's not.. Contacting the mothership or some shit. Noah nods to himself slowly. 

That is some shit-sure planning. 

His door creaks open, and he stands up, ready to put it in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noah's kind of a dick. I would be too, though, if I was Going Through It:tm:! Sort of really short, and rushed, sorry about that :(.... Please lmk what I can do better


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS  
> . Internalized homophobia and child abuse.

Kevin woke up to a warm, calloused hand dabbing at his face with something damp. His head throbbed in protest when he shifted, a burning sensation fanning out from his nose to his forehead, down to his teeth. He swallowed tiredly with a grimace, mouth dry and sticky, a hellish combination. Though he was incredibly out of it, the man attempted to bat the hand away, panic rising.  
  
"Hey, hey, calm down." A voice cuts through the fuzzy lightheaded feeling, as hands gently display their palms in a placating gesture. "You're fine."   
  
In disbelief, Kevin sniffs, a ragged, stuffy noise. "Noah?" he croaks, confused and gingerly touching the bridge of his nose, flinching when a spike of pain sears through his face again. "Shit, that's right." The events of the last night had come back to the man, causing his face to heat up in shame and anger. The Observer had made its appearance, earning Kevin Noah's distrust and a possibly broken nose. It wasn't as if Kevin had been fool enough to not see this coming, he had known that despite his condition, he was still bound to the entity and forced to live out his days as a doll for its whims. Forever a marionette, to a cruel puppet-master.   
  
Kevin grimaces, attempting to shake off those thoughts, as well as the overwhelming guilt he felt when he sat up, remembering the fear in Noah's voice. The anger.   
  
Noah follows his gaze with an uncomfortable cough. The other man looked weary, having set aside the wet paper towel (stained rust) to watch Kevin sit up, with something unreadable in his eyes. Watching the other man sleep had felt ironic to Noah, who'd become accustomed to the exact opposite. Watching how Kevin's chest rose and fell, the gentle uncurling of his balled hands and the way his lips looked stained with blood. He'd looked away then, feeling a rise of panic. He couldn't afford those feelings. Not now.   
  
"I"m sorry for.." They both start, a forced chuckle leaving Kevin's lips after.   
  
"I didn't mean to-." A genuine chuckle. Noah gestures for Kevin to go first.   
  
"I'm sorry it... is even here at all." He sighs, "I should've warned you or-or.. elaborated, or something."   
  
Noah hesitates.   
  
"It's alright. It's gonna be alright."   
  
\--------------   
After a few days, they began coexisting in hesitant silence, usually only broken when Kevin mustered enough strength to ask for the help he needed in getting around.   
  
It's broken again one day when they've both settled in opposite ends of the room, the sun warming the room as it filtered in through the blinds. Kevin has his head pressed against the arm rest, while Noah was zoned out and away, somewhere deep in his mind.   
  
"Did Milo ever.. tell you about Mary and my mother?" He asks finally. Out of the blue. Near desperate for someone to talk to.   
  
"He never really mentioned Sharon, but. I remember Mary." Kevin responds uneasily, "Mary was.. not a great mother. She wasn't a good person." He had always been made painfully aware of who he was around Mary, and he never remembered feeling comfortable in the Ashers' crumbling home.   
  
"Mm. that makes sense." Noah hums, "Neither was my mom. Grade A manipulative bitch."   
  
Kevin scoots a bit closer, hands brushing Noah's, "Shit. I always thought of her as like.. lesser of two evils."   
  
"In some ways she was," The brunette sighed, "My parents never drugged me or sold me to some weird-ass cult. I always got good grades, but.. I could never give them what they want from a son, y'know?"   
  
Kevin is silent. But he nods softly, understandingly.   
  
"could never.. give them the picket fence, y'know?" He mutters, "Grandkids, a fuckin' Golden Retriever. Because I think. Because I find.. " Noah stops and starts the sentence, not having the words. "Because I'm _wrong_."  
  
Kevin sucks in a breath through his teeth. He doesn't need to really read between the lines to understand what his reluctant roommate is attempting to say. The way his heart clenches and startlingly, at the same time, beats faster in his chest surprises him. He places his pinky over Noah's a gentle gesture. A supportive one.   
  
A few beats of silence follow.   
  
"You could still get them a Golden Retriever." Kevin says simply, laughing quietly as Noah swats at him exasperatedly. For all his huffing, NOah appreciates the simple joke. He feels leagues lighter.   
  
And if he stares a little too hard at Kevin's lips as he laughs, a sweet sound that takes their minds off of everything, that's between him and noone else.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see! (lol.)
> 
> I honestly debated getting rid of this fic, as the truth of Adam Rosner came to light. He genuinely is such a disgusting person, and it made me feel disgusting for praising him so heavily, though i couldn't have known he was the monster he proved himself to be. I also struggled a lot with being involved in Tribetwelve due to personal troubles about the fandom. But, my love for this story and eternal guilt of never finishing out a fanfic have driven me back here.


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